


The Consequences of Aristocracy

by send_methemoon



Category: Anastasia (1997)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bickering, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, anya is not the greatest at vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/send_methemoon/pseuds/send_methemoon
Summary: Anya has been crowned as the Lost Princess, and Dmitry pays the Dowager Queen a visit. Anya catches him as he leaves, but it seems her new life has come between them.What might have been running through their heads, and what should have happened after.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Kudos: 15





	The Consequences of Aristocracy

"You will _bow_ before the Princess," barked the orderly. He was a tall, bony man who reeked of disapproval. 

Dmitry had been on the final few steps of the grand staircase, and Anya had called for him. He'd faltered, just for a moment, then proceeded down as if she had meant nothing. Never in her life had Anya felt so disconnected. So lost. So... bewildered. That really was saying something.

Was that anger flashing in Dmitry's eyes? She would never know for sure, except the sharp turn, the stiff bow and the icy "Your Highness" left her reeling. She felt more alone than any monarch had the right to feel. Heart sinking, she reached for him, just missing the crook of his elbow which had so recently cradled her hand. "Dmitry," Anya whispered, the name catching in her throat. He finally stopped two steps below her. Slowly turned to face her. Anya's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, speaking of months of yearning and fighting and feeling that she simply didn't have the words for. _Or maybe I just lack the courage to speak them,_ whispered her traitorous heart. The man who looked stonily back at her made her shatter. His walls were up.

She'd lost him.

* * *

He held his breath and fought to keep his face impassive. He waited for her to speak, to do _something_. His Anya - Dmitry didn't know when she became his Anya - would react. She'd call him out, call him a fool, poke and prod and so thoroughly irritate him ("Didn't you hear me calling your name? Do we need to get you to a doctor? Have you lost what remained of your manners, street rat?") that he'd have no choice but to respond.

The Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia wouldn't, though. Shouldn't, to be more exact. While she was simply Anastasia Nikolaevna to those who knew her in childhood, she was still learning royal etiquette, and the new staff insisted on the most rigid formalities. For example, Dmitry had been staring long past the bounds of propriety. He wished for Anya, and threw a prayer to whoever could be listening.

_Speak! Please!_

* * *

His gaze was steady, so unflinching that it could have cut through ice. She didn't know whether to weep or to scream.

In the end, it was an unholy combination of both. "NnhuihaaaAAArh- you- you're- how dare you walk away from me! Who the hell do you think you are?"

To her immense relief and satisfaction, Dmitry came to life and spun to face her. There was just the slightest lift to the corners of his mouth, and triumph shining in his eyes. What he had won, Anya wasn't sure of. "That's rich coming from you! Do you even know who you are any more? Or are you so buried in rules and etiquette that you've forgotten the rest of us common folk?"

Anya narrowed her eyes and took a step towards him. "Etiquette? Hmm, would this be the same etiquette you and Vlad drilled into me over the summer, _Dmitry_? I certainly haven't forgotten that you're a liar and a thief!"

Dmitry flinched, then huffed indignantly to cover the hurt. As he made to leave, the orderly stepped into his path and Dmitry barely caught himself before he collided into the man. Unfortunately, Anya had chosen that moment to surge forward, and the three of them went flying. Dmitry hand came up instinctively to cradle Anya's head, and he cushioned her fall just as the orderly cushioned his. And so it was that the Dowager found them in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the left-hand staircase. They had heard the commotion and began descending the staircase. Sophie chortled alongside her as she caught a glimpse of the red-faced youngsters and a very grumpy orderly.

Anya sprung to her feet and began rearranging her skirts as Dmitry caught his breath. He was grinning like a child at Christmas. Anya lived after all!

His smile was devastating. Anya's heart beat a pretty pattern inside her chest, one she'd thought she had extinguished the week before. _He's a liar he's a liar he's a liar he's a liar-_ She repeated the refrain in her head like a spell. 

The Dowager Empress had made her way to the bottom of the staircase. Dmitry, now upright, bowed warily.

"You know Marie," Sophie began, "I believe that Dmitry's generous _donation_ shows a certain strength of character, don't you agree?"

The Empress shot her an unreadable look, Anya frowned in bemusement and Dmitry shifted uncomfortably. "All for a good cause, your highness."

Anya looked between the three of them, before piecing together what they already knew. "You donated the finder's fee." The words came out as a quiet accusation.

Dmitry bit back a retort, and simply nodded. "It seemed like the right thing to do, seeing as how you actually turned out to be the Princess."

For the first time since their trip to the opera, Anya's shoulders dropped and she felt the bands of anxiety loosen around her chest. She can't resist one last jab, though. "And just where, exactly, does a con man donate ten million rubles?"

Marie finally spoke up. "To several orphanages across Russia, of course."

Dmitry would cherish the look on Anya's face for years to come. The mix of tenderness, surprise and pride, followed by utter longing, bowled him over and for once, he resisted making light of the situation. It felt fragile and new, as real as that fateful night on the boat. There were many more hurdles before either of them would come to accept that it was love, and longer still before they acted upon it, but for now, they were content to be ushered into the Yellow Parlour for lunch.

**Author's Note:**

> hello my lovelies! this has been something i have wanted to write for years, and it seems like today is the day! it's a classic case of 'i want to read this fic' > 'wait it doesn't exist' > 'guess i'll just have to write it myself then!'
> 
> i really hope you enjoyed it. xo


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